Marriage of the Soulby Nadia Khalil Bradley Facebook Notes on Thursday, 25 August 2011 at 01:01

I love you now and with you I am my bestYou see the best part of meThat is who I want to be with you and with myselfI realize life is filled with challengesI ask your permission to join you in those challengesI am excited to live life with you and grow my soulAs you grow yoursI look forward to us bringing children into this worldI trust that we will both build a life of loveand share it with themI ask that when things are not so greatWe come to each other in truthI ask that when you are not certain of us, you will say"I am far away from you, why?"I ask that we remember why we choose to be togetherAnd if the reasons change you will come to me in truthAnd not create another reason whyWe agree not to blame each otherAnd to understand that we are souls, and we are partnersAnd in partnership we do our best each day and every dayPromise that we will honor us even if we are not togetherThat we always remain examples of truth, love and purityTo us and to all those whose lives are interwined in oursI love you and I pledge this to you my love, in this dayFor each day is growth for us

As simply as a self-effacing bar of soapescaping by indiscernible degrees in the wash water is how a man may changeand still hour by hour continue in his job. There in the mirror he appears to be on fire but here at the office he is dust.So long as there remains a little moisture in the stains,he stands easily on the pavementand moves fluidly through the corridors. If only one cloud can be seen, it is enough to know of others,and life stands on the brink. It rainsor it doesn’t, or it rains and it rains again.But let it go on raining for forty days and nights or let the sun bake the ground for as long, and it isn’t life, just life, anymore, it’s living.In the meantime, in the regular weather of ordinary days,it sometimes happens that a man has changed so slowly that he slips awaybefore anyone noticesand lives and dies before anyone can find out.

Roselva says the only thing that doesn't change is train tracks. She’s sure of it.The train changes, or the weeds that grow up spidery by the side, but not the tracks.I've watched one for three years, she says,and it doesn't curve, doesn't break, doesn't grow.

Peter isn't sure. He saw an abandoned tracknear Sabina's, Mexico, and says a track without a train is a changed track. The metal wasn't shiny anymore. The wood was split and some of the ties were gone.

Every Tuesday on Morales Streetbutchers crack the necks of a hundred hens. The widow in the tilted housespices her soup with cinnamon.Ask her what doesn't change.

Stars explode.The rose curls up as if there is fire in the petals. The cat who knew me is buried under the bush.

The train whistle still wails its ancient sound but when it goes away, shrinking backfrom the walls of the brain,it takes something different with it every time.

Confusion never stops Closing walls and ticking clocks, gonnaCome back and take you homeI could not stop that you now know, singingDon't stop, make it popDJ, blow my speakers up Tonight, I'mma fight'Til we see the sunlightTick tock on the clockBut the party don't stop, no